


We Can Be Golden (Why Don't We Show Them)

by PoisonedMind



Series: Take The World By Storm (an Interactive Introverts series) [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, interactive introverts tour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 07:36:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14869484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonedMind/pseuds/PoisonedMind
Summary: They’re just giddy on alcohol and pride and post-show-adrenaline, so when the timid voice of a girl asks, “Is that actually you, Dan and Phil?” they don’t freeze. They don’t turn around with stiff postures and panicked smiles.





	We Can Be Golden (Why Don't We Show Them)

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for phandomficfests' Tour Fic Fest. Thank you for hosting these!
> 
> A big thank you to [@quercussp](https://quercussp.tumblr.com/) who was super sweet and willing to beta this even at such short notice.
> 
> The title is from the song Golden by Brandon Beal feat. Lukas Graham.

They’re slightly intoxicated, just enough to make the world seem kind of ethereal, like certain things matter a little less while other things, like them, like this moment, are paramount. Phil sways as he gets out of the booth. Dan is standing in front of him, alcohol and laughter painting his cheeks red, and Phil isn’t entirely sure if his balance is questionable only because of the drinks they’ve had. 

“Need some help there, Philly?” The words may be perceptibly slurred, and his eyelids may be drooping a bit, but Phil can still clearly detect the mirth Dan’s trying to suppress. 

“Shut up, Howell,” he says, and Dan drops his gaze to somewhere on Phil’s chest before looking up again through his lashes. 

“God, so demanding,” and Phil cannot let him just say that, because the words go straight under Phil’s skin, and they’re in public and so he can’t get his hands on Dan. A memo Dan apparently didn’t get tonight, because his hands are suddenly on Phil’s shoulders, arms, his is body close, and Phil gives up any pretence of ever being able to resist him. They walk past a wall with a purple neon sign projecting _I feel love_ into the room, into the world, and Phil smiles and glances at Dan. 

They walk out of the door, shoulders bumping, hands brushing. A small gasp leaves Dan’s lips when they’re greeted by a gust of chilly spring outside of the pub and they both stop.

“Where do you want to go?” Phil whispers. Because, for some reason, it feels like this night is a secret, _have to keep quiet or they will find out._

Dan whispers, “Wherever,” and his breath touches Phil’s face, and Phil thinks that perhaps it’s not a secret as much as it’s just theirs. 

They end up walking the backstreets of Brighton, enjoying the cool air of a cloudless night. It’s empty of people save for a few groups huddled together outside of pubs. 

There is a lull in their muffled conversation, and Dan bumps his shoulder into Phil’s. Phil returns it with interest; it’s a game they play, no rules and everything’s fair play, so he looks around for a second before leaning in and attaching his lips to Dan’s dimple. They’re limned against the night with light from the moon and scattered street lights along the roads, and they’re just giddy on alcohol and pride and post-show-adrenaline, so when the timid voice of a girl asks, “Is that actually you, Dan and Phil?” they don’t freeze. They don’t turn around with stiff postures and panicked smiles. 

They do stop, just long enough for the girls to start whispering excitedly, and then they turn to look at each other, wide-eyed and high on life and each other and this cloudless night in Brighton. 

It’s Dan who cracks first. His stare turns mischievous, and Phil knows that look, knows it means that anything can happen, and Dan is smiling now, too, lifting his eyebrows slightly, daring, and Phil nods. Because there’s a substance in his blood usurping the rational side of his brain, because right now they’re on top of the world, because _yes_ , because Dan’s asking, and Phil never could answer him with anything but _yes_. 

And then Dan is reaching out, grabs Phil’s hand in his own, and, suddenly, they’re running. 

They’re running as if their lives depend on it, and Phil thinks that perhaps they do, perhaps this is the moment that will change everything. This moment, stretching out and pulsing around them. Or maybe not. Maybe Dan’s hand clinging tightly to Phil’s is invisible to anyone but them.

They run until they’ve used up all available oxygen, until their lungs are burning with exertion, and they’re gasping for air, but they’re laughing, too, because _fuck, what the fuck did they just do._

“What. The. Fuck,” Dan says, and off they go again, losing all senses. A man walks by with his dog dragged on its lead.

“God, me,” Dan whispers, and they choke on laughter. Funniest thing in the whole damn world, Phil thinks. The man must’ve heard them because he glares and opens his mouth, but then the dog sees a cat and suddenly the devil’s in it, and it’s dragging them away, the man yelling bloody murder. Phil thinks they nearly paid the penalty of this paroxysm, but he also doesn’t really care, because Dan’s tugging on his shirtsleeve, singing, “Phil, Phil, Phil,” and so he has to pay attention. 

“What?” He says.

Dan says, “Look!” and points to the horizon. Phil looks. He always looks, Dan points and Phil looks, because that’s the rules, don’t go cheating, and because his boyfriend is magnetic and ineluctable and Phil is just a little bit in love. 

They’re standing at the edge of the world, or so it seems. The sea is right in front of them, reaching for them with every wave.

“How did we get to the beach?” Phil wonders. The moonpath looks like an iridescent carpet leading into infinity, and he wants to take Dan’s hand and walk it. 

“We ran like the devil was behind us.” Dan smiles, nudges Phil’s shoulder with his own. Phil turns away from eternity and looks at him. The moon watching them from above paints him in pale whites, the wind whistles by and his curls are caught in it, and Phil isn’t sure he’s ever seen anything more stunning.

It was stupid, reckless, what they did, and Phil wants to say it, wants to get it out, because he doesn’t want the fear in his chest to take root. Not in this moment, not here, when they’re suspended in time, unmoving and insouciant. 

“Dan,” is all he gets out, but Dan knows exactly what he’s trying to say.

“I know.” His smile dims marginally, and Phil wants so badly to reach out, to touch him. Silence stretches out around them like a rubber band, ready to snap, and Dan takes a deep breath. Any second now, Phil thinks. 

“What the hell, Phil, right? 2018, what is that about? Living our truth or something. New chapter, new us, right?” Dan exhales and Phil thinks, _screw new chapters, let’s write a whole new book, blank pages, make up our own story from scratch._

He opens his mouth to let his thoughts out, but Dan is quicker. He says, “Actually, fuck that. Rip out the pages. Let’s write something new, yeah?” 

He knows that decisions like this should require more thought, and he knows that they’re going to talk about it again, tomorrow, the day after, but right now it feels like a no-brainer, inevitable. As if their story is destined, they just need to figure out the words to write it down.

“Yeah. Let’s write something new,” Phil echos, and it feels so good. He looks to Dan, and Dan isn’t looking at him, he’s looking at the sea. Studying the curves of the whitecap waves, the stars and the moon have taken up residence in his eyes, and Phil can’t help but to shuffle closer, burrow into Dan’s warmth. His head is heavy, his eyes are dry, and he curses himself for leaving his contacts in after the evening show. He wants to close his eyes, lean his head on Dan’s shoulder, breathe in the salt in the air and the scent that is just Dan. It’s dark, the street lights don’t reach this part of the beach, and it’s just them. Dan sighs, it’s long and drawn out, content, and Phil risks everything without second thought as he lets his head fall. Dan doesn’t stiffen before turning his head and smiling into Phil’s hair. 

He doesn’t ever want to move again. 

Happy. Phil feels happy, almost giddy with it, but he’s also so tired, and it’s a kind of strange combination, but he lets his eyelids fall like he did his head, and Dan’s shoulder is hard and bony under his cheek.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it!  
> I'm on tumblr too at [bie-lovers](https://bie-lovers.tumblr.com/) if you want to say hi, no pressure.  
> You can also [reblog](https://bie-lovers.tumblr.com/post/174688699876/we-can-be-golden-why-dont-we-show-them) this fic on tumblr if you want to. :)


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